


A Bone To Pick

by clottedcreamfudge



Series: Mates, but not the Aussie way [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski are Soulmates, Everybody Lives, Face-Fucking, Facials, Filthy, Friendship, Gay Sex, Good Sex, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Lemon does not feature at all, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mates, Meet the Family, Mentioned Kate Argent, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Minor Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Oral Sex, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Bromance, Scott is a Good Friend, Sex, Sort Of, Soulmates, Therapy, Trauma, Warning: Kate Argent, Werewolf Mates, because they're too busy banging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 04:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15744744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clottedcreamfudge/pseuds/clottedcreamfudge
Summary: “Oh shit yeah - sorry guys! I forgot to mention that my brand spanking new boyfriend -- emphasis on the spanking -- is also a literal werewolf. Surprise!”Derek goes rigid. Stiles is doing fuckingjazz handssomehow.***Stiles is ridiculous, Derek is attracted to him anyway, and talking about your trauma may sometimes lead to the best sex of your life (apparently).





	A Bone To Pick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aussiebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebee/gifts).



> Takes place just after Derek meets the Sheriff in Dog With A Bone. Scroll to notes at the end for warnings.

“Why aren’t you more nervous about this? Is the magic gone from our relationship already? Derek it’s been three months, we can talk about this, get through this rough patch together-” Stiles is interrupted by a warning growl, Derek tightening his grip on Stiles’ hips almost imperceptibly - the claws haven’t come out yet but it’s a close thing. Unfortunately they don’t work as a deterrent as well as they should.

“I’ve met your dad. He has a _gun_. I think I can deal with the Scooby Gang.”

“Oh my god, I love it when you make pop culture references, it’s so hot. We should have sex.”

“Stiles, we _are_ having sex,” Derek says with a hint of exasperation - and he’s not wrong. They are very much in the _during_ part of sex, what with Derek’s dick being in the general vicinity of Stiles’ ass. But then, Stiles has never been one for sense of any kind, as Derek is slowly realising and coming to terms with.

 _Very_ slowly.

“Then why did you mention my _dad_?”

“You just started talking about _Scott_ ,” Derek argues, raising his impressive eyebrows in protest. “I can’t believe you’re pretending to be the normal one here.”

“It’s cute how you think being a bisexual, dog-training werewolf is ‘normal’,” Stiles teases. “It’s like you-” He’s cut short in whatever he’s about to say next by a sharp upward thrust that has him stuttering out a soft ‘ _oh’_ of surprise. “Yeah, do that again,” he says breathlessly, gripping Derek’s shoulders and grinding back helplessly as he does, indeed, do _that_ again. In a feat of gravity-defying ab work, Derek leans up and presses a surprisingly tender kiss to the spot just behind Stiles’ ear that renders him completely speechless.

It’s a magical spot.

“Now will you please shut up and let me fuck you so that we’re not late?”

Stiles readily complies.

 

* * *

 

Derek isn’t _acting_ nervous, but fortunately Stiles can read him pretty well already, so he knows better.

He’d have noticed earlier but he was a little distracted.

“You lied to me! You lied to me while you had your-” Derek shoves a hand over Stiles’ mouth, looking incensed and mortified.

“ _Stiles_ , we are on a nice street,” he hisses quietly, carefully removing his hand lest Stiles lick it (which has happened numerous times before). “If you’re going to be _coarse,_ do it quietly.”

“Okay first off - coarse? What are you, eighty?” Derek is trying desperately not to smile but he can feel the corners of his mouth twitching and Stiles is outright grinning at him now -- the little shit already knows what that does to him. “And secondly, I never do _anything_ quietly.” His voice is a little lower now, a glint in his eyes, and Derek rolls his eyes to stop himself from fixating too hard on Stiles’ mouth. He’s kind of obsessed with it and he would very much like to meet Stiles’ friends without sporting a semi.

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” he responds drily, taking Stiles by the arm and marching him up to the front door before he can protest. Derek knocks on the door and it is almost immediately swung open by a man who appears to be more puppy than human.

“Stiles! And Derek!” If the enthusiastic way Stiles throws himself into the other man’s arms is anything to go by, this must be Scott.

“Platonic life partner!” Stiles crows, burying his face in Scott’s neck and clinging to him like they didn’t meet up _literally_ yesterday for coffee. Derek tries very hard not to roll his eyes - he suspects it’d look more fond than he’d like.

Stiles does eventually let go and Scott holds out a hand to Derek to shake, which he does.

“Great to finally meet you, dude! Stiles hasn’t shut up about you since you guys met,” Scott says warmly, smiling at him in a way that makes Derek smile back, just a little. Stiles colours, punching Scott firmly on the arm.

“I will end you,” Stiles says firmly, but without any real venom behind the words. Scott’s grin only gets wider as he drops Derek’s hand.

“Come on inside, guys - we’ve set up the grill out back. I hope you like steak?” He aims that last part at Derek as they all step back inside, shutting the front door on the already-darkening street. Derek opens his mouth to respond but Stiles gets there first.

“Derek _loves_ meat,” he says smugly - Scott gags. Derek rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised they don’t fall out of his head because only Stiles could make a werewolf joke sound like a sex joke.

“I will rip your throat out with my teeth,” he says levelly, and Stiles beams at him like it’s the greatest thing anyone’s ever said to him.

“Promises, promises!”

They make their way out to the backyard and Derek does his best not to wince at the different sounds, sights and smells that bombard him here. He’s glad Stiles had warned him about the supernatural element of their little gang, because the sharp-looking redhead in the corner has immediately set him on edge.

“Guys, Stiles and Derek are here!” Scott announces this like he teleported them here himself, and Derek is reluctantly charmed by his enthusiasm. There are waves and shouts of “hey!” from all over the yard, and Scott beckons Derek to follow him as he does the introductions. Stiles drifts off towards the redhead, and he distinctly sees her engage in a reluctant high-five, which he tries not to feel too smug about.

“This is Boyd and his fiancee, Erica,” Scott says, indicating a tall, broad black man and a white, blonde woman who smiles with all her teeth in a way that reminds Derek too much of his sisters. She leans forward conspiratorially, flashing a generous amount of cleavage (which he presumes is intentional).

“Actually, Boyd’s _my_ fiance,” she says, linking hands with Boyd and giving a quick squeeze. “He gets down on his knees plenty, so I thought I’d take over for once.” Boyd rolls his eyes, but he looks fond as he does so - the scent coming off him is content, settled. The scent coming off Erica is tinny, a little like blood and medication, but he shuts it out; he wasn’t _actually_ raised by wolves.

“Erica, please don’t scare the new guy,” Scott says with a sigh, but he looks resigned and slightly amused.

“I’m with Stiles,” Derek says drily, shaking both Boyd’s and Erica’s free hands one after the other. “I can handle a double entendre.” Erica snorts, and some of the bravado she’d been putting on falls away; her smile becomes more genuine, even as she gives him an appreciative once-over.

“Stiles did alright, but I hope you know how well _you’ve_ done.” Derek lets the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smile as his mind wanders very briefly to Stiles straddling his hips earlier, the perspiration at his temples as his stomach muscles worked, the redness of his mouth as he’d gasped in more air--

Yeah, he knows how well he’s done.

Scott drags him away before he can answer, probably figuring that Erica has freaked him out a bit. It’s a fair assumption to make, even if his silence was a bit more gutter-minded than he’ll admit.

Especially to Stiles. He’d be _insufferable_.

“And this,” Scott says with a hint of pride, “is Danny. He’s too good for all of us and once hacked into a government database for fun.” Danny, whose cheekbones look like they could cut glass and the glass would _thank_ him, smiles winningly at Derek.

“Summer under house arrest for that,” he says with a sigh, holding out the hand that isn’t wrapped around a beer bottle for Derek to take. “I’ve done a lot of very legal and very important things since then, but nobody here is as impressed by any of that.” Derek is helpless to smile back (Laura and Cora would be taking photographs by now as proof that he has a soul) - Stiles has talked about Danny a lot, and he can see why. Charming isn’t a strong enough word. There are _dimples_.

_(“He’s the reason I realised I was bisexual, Derek! You should be thanking him, because now I am fully prepared to touch your dick. All because of research he inspired!”_

_“I’m grateful, really. Although I’m a little on edge right now, since you’ve_ stopped _touching my dick to talk about another guy.”_

_“Oh my god I am so sorry I didn’t even-”_

_“Stiles, it’s fine I’m just -_ fuck _\--- ”)_

“Nice to meet you,” he says, and he’s surprised to find that he means it. He almost _never_ thinks it’s nice to meet people, unless they have dogs.

“You too,” Danny says warmly, releasing Derek’s hand with a friendly squeeze and leaning across to a cooler to grab him a beer. Derek takes it gratefully; it’s a warm evening, and even if alcohol barely affects him, he’s pleased to see that it’s a good ale.

“This,” Scott says with a goofy smile as they walk over to a brunette woman equally burdened with glorious dimple (and god, he’s starting to _think_ like Stiles), “is my wife, Allison.” She smiles and it’s like sunshine - no _wonder_ she and Scott are together. They could probably power a small planet with the benevolent light coming out of their faces. It verges on gross, but then Derek’s relationship is hardly conventional.

(“Derek we are in a _changing room_!”

“You’re trying on skinny jeans. Shirtless.”

“I thought you’d maybe tell me my butt looked cute then take me home and ravish me!”

“So we’ve skipped a step.”

“Yeah something like that - oh my god are you-? Holy shit, your _mouth_ , please ignore all the things I’ve ever said about public sex being tacky.” Derek had pulled off with a frankly obscene noise and raised an eyebrow up at Stiles.

“Do you want to maybe keep your voice down?”

“It’s kind of difficult when you’re - oh my _god_ \--”

They’d ended up ruining a pair of skinny jeans and had been forced to buy them even though Stiles thought they were way too tight. The saleswoman didn’t look pleased. Derek was secretly _very_ pleased.)

“I haven’t seen Stiles this happy since he got to write an essay on Star Wars in his second year of college,” Allison says warmly, the sunshine smile still very much intact. “So thank you for that.” She’s so sincere and sweet that Derek can almost feel his teeth rotting. He doesn’t totally hate it, but it’s a close thing.

“Speaking of the nerd, how much did Stilinski have to scrape together to pay for this fake relationship?” The drawl is unpleasant, but Derek is practised enough to pull back the eye flash and growl combo that threatens to bubble up when he hears it. The guy sauntering up _has_ to be Jackson, and Scott’s eye-rolling introduction (" _Jackson, we’re not in school anymore - grow up")_ confirms it. Derek raises an eyebrow, remembering the exact conversation he’d had with Stiles a couple of days previously.

_(“Feel free to posture at Jackson a bit - he’ll be really upset he’s not the prettiest boy at the pony club anymore, and we should really capitalise on that.”_

_“From what you’ve told me so far, you don’t know anybody who’s not ‘supernaturally hot’ - your words."_

_“Jackson is so not my type, urgh. He’s an insufferable jackass who bullied me in high school and now, for some reason, we have a reluctant fondness for each other. I think it’s our mutual appreciation for hot people who could kill us with their pinky finger.”_

_“Lydia?”_

_“Lydia. I can’t tell you how often I - hey, wait, put me_ down--" _)_

“Stiles said you might say something like that - also mentioned you not being his type. Sorry you missed out,” he says easily, crossing his arms in a way that he _knows_ does a good job of showcasing his biceps. He watches as Jackson tries desperately not to stare, instead sneering to cover up the fact that he may have bitten off more than he can chew.

“Please, I’m everyone’s type. Not that I’d touch Stilinski with a ten-foot barge pole.”

Derek lets his eyes dart pointedly down to Jackson’s crotch and back up again.

“Ten foot?” he says, voice _dripping_ with a brand of sarcasm that has been described by his sisters as ‘murder-y’ and ‘kind of psycho’. “I’m pretty sure that’s a medical condition, you should get that checked out.” Scott barks out a laugh, looking delighted, and Allison smothers a giggle with her hand, the dimples coming out again in full force. Jackson gapes slightly then regains his composure and rolls his eyes.

“So Stilinski did alright for once,” he concedes, snagging himself a beer and meeting Derek’s eyes again with a curt nod. He feels a little like he passed some kind of bizarre test.

“Derek!” He turns around to see Stiles walking towards him, holding a suspiciously full and new-looking beer, Lydia following in a way that suggests she’s actually leading somehow. Stiles’ eyes are darting between Derek and Jackson and there’s a definite smirk forming on his face. Knowing him, he probably _sent_ the arrogant blond over here to test Derek’s mettle or something.

That shouldn’t tickle him as much as it does.

“I see you’ve met the bane of my existence,” Stiles says brightly, sliding into place beside Derek like he _fits_ , giving him a gentle hip-check without taking his eyes off Jackson. Derek tries not to smile, huffing and taking a pull of his beer just to have something to do that isn’t kissing Stiles senseless in front of all of his friends.

Stiles actually ends up taking the beer out of his hand and kissing him full on the mouth, so his restraint was all for nothing. He hears Erica wolf whistle and Stiles laughs a little into his mouth at the _‘Get it, Stilinski’_ she yells at them across the garden.

He can’t bring himself to mind.

“Okay,” Stiles says, breaking the kiss and handing back Derek’s beer (which he honestly couldn’t care less about right now, but he takes it just so he has something PG to do with his hands). “Now that I’ve thoroughly staked my claim, I need red meat and more alcohol than is wise for a school night.”

“Please stop calling it that, dude. You’re giving me palpitations - I haven’t had homework for years but I’m still kinda worried I’ve forgotten to do it.”

“ _Some of us_ are still in school, Scotty - it’s not my fault that you abandoned me to play with kittens all day,” Stiles says with a grin, following the group as they congregate on the patio next to the grill. Scott rolls his eyes affectionately and pulls up the lid of the grill, releasing a plume of woody smoke into the air.

“Is that what you think I do? I had to put a thermometer up Lemon’s ass last month.”

“Scott, Stiles - please don’t make me regret our friendship,” Lydia says airily, raising her eyebrows at the pair of them. “I put a lot of work into both of you and you’re disappointing me.”

“We all have a cross to bear,” Stiles says, mock mournful as he grabs a paper plate and looks pointedly between the frankly _ridiculous_ amount of charred meat and his outstretched hands. Even looking past the obvious love and contentment radiating from Lydia, Derek can tell that this is the way their friendship works; he’s honestly not sure what Stiles would do without a sarcasm outlet opportunity at least a couple of times an hour, and Lydia quite plainly gives as good as she gets.

This fact is only driven home when she neatly steps in front of him in the queue for burgers, the heel of one designer stiletto hovering carefully and precisely over Stiles’ foot.

Once everyone has a _(Star Wars-themed,_ _Christ)_ paper plate piled high with food, and more beers have been distributed, they all stuff themselves into chairs on the patio and the talking starts up in earnest. Stiles, knowing all too well how Derek feels about flames (even though Derek hasn’t fully explained why yet), snags them a massive beanbag as far away from the fire pit as possible, and is now pressed thigh to thigh with him; Derek feels himself relax minutely, sinking a little further into their shared space.

“So, Derek - Stiles tells us you’re finally whipping Lemon into shape,” Scott says warmly, and suddenly all eyes are on him. He does his best not to shrink back at the attention, clearing his throat and leaning forward to put down his empty plate.

“Lemon’s doing great,” he says honestly, thinking of the look of pure joy on her little face when she’d realised she was going to be rooming with Laura’s Alaskan Malamute, Chancey, for the night. Their love was adorable and unbreakable, in spite of the significant size difference. “She just needed a bit of guidance and a routine - it was an easy fix,” he continues, shrugging. “Stiles was willing to do what needed to be done to change her behaviours, and that’s the only thing you can ask from a dog owner. If they’re not willing to change then they can’t expect miracles from the dog either.”

Jackson snorts.

“So it’s actually _Stiles_ who’s whipped then,” he says with a smirk, and Derek is absolutely _not_ picturing throwing him directly into the fire pit. Before he can open his mouth, Stiles beats him to the punch.

“I’m usually the one holding the whip actually - shows what _you_ know, Whittemore,” he says airily.

Scott chokes on his beer; Erica actually gets up from where she’s draped across Boyd’s lap to give Stiles a high-five; Lydia rolls her eyes and punches Jackson in the arm (he pretends it doesn’t hurt but Derek can _smell_ the bruise forming under his skin).

“ _Dude_ ,” Scott says once he’s got his breath back. “I don’t want to know that. No, I _cannot_ know that. I’m going to have to bleach my _brain_.” Stiles is openly grinning now, and Derek can feel the corners of his own mouth twitching.

“So we’re just gonna pretend that time where you described Ally’s dimples to me for two whole hours didn’t happen? That was arguably more disturbing - no offence Allison,” Stiles adds as an afterthought; Allison bows her head and raises her glass in acquiescence, and Scott wrinkles his nose.

“That’s not the same.”

“You’re right - your crime was far more heinous.” Derek rolls his eyes fondly and sets down his empty beer bottle in order to gently tug Stiles into his lap from where he’s standing, one finger pointing imperiously at Scott. He goes willingly, but doesn’t stop talking, which isn’t exactly a surprise. “I am _never_ going to get those two hours back, Scott! I could have been getting laid or-”

“Did you just _growl?”_ Lydia interrupts curiously, cocking her head to the side -- and _fuck_ , Derek realises he absolutely had. (The idea of Stiles ‘getting laid’ by anyone but him is something he’s working on not getting pissy about...) He feels his face heat up, but Stiles just slings an arm around his neck and laughs.

“Oh shit yeah - sorry guys! I forgot to mention that my brand spanking new boyfriend -- _emphasis on the spanking_ \-- is also a literal werewolf. Surprise!”

Derek goes rigid. Stiles is doing fucking _jazz hands_ somehow.

There’s silence for a few beats, in which all Derek can hear is blood rushing in his ears.

Then--

“Well I feel a little better about the _obvious_ mauling now,” Erica says slyly, indicating Stiles’ throat with a sharply-manicured hand and a predatory grin. There are still some fading bruises there from the night before, which Derek keeps trying (and failing) not to be pleased about.

“Werewolves? Seriously. Oh my god! _So cool_ ,” Scott says predictably, high-fiving Stiles as they both grin dorkily at each other. Scott gets so excited about this new development, in fact, that he has to get his inhaler - everyone calms down a little bit after that.

“Usually people ask to see the fangs,” Derek says mildly -- well, as mildly as he possibly can when he knows he’s flushing to the tips of his ears while his boyfriend continues to high-five as many people as possible. He’s pretty sure he sees some money changing hands.

There’s one person who doesn’t seem particularly surprised though.

“Derek _Hale?"_  Allison asks suddenly, her voice oddly commanding despite how quietly she’s speaking. Derek zones in on her. He nods, curious and suddenly a little on edge. Allison’s mouth moves to a silent ‘oh’ of realisation, and she stands suddenly. “Can I speak to you in private?” she asks, an edge of something pleading in her tone. Derek is absolutely _bewildered._

“Ally, what-” Stiles starts, apparently equally confused, but she just shakes her head minutely and he stops. Derek stands, his curiosity winning out over his distrust of new people.

“Sure,” he says, and follows Allison inside the house while everyone whispers variations on _‘what the hell?’_ behind them. Stiles starts filling them in on the super-hearing thing and that promptly stops, however, as they drift into the dining room.

Allison sits down on one of the high-backed chairs - Derek follows suit, for lack of anything else to do. He’s surprised to smell both fear and guilt building up on the other side of the table, Allison watching him with a look of trepidation.

It all makes a lot more sense when she finally starts talking.

“I don’t think Stiles told you my surname, did he?” Derek shakes his head and she sighs, closing her eyes briefly as if in prayer. A few moments of silence follow before she continues.

“It’s Argent.”

Derek doesn’t recoil - not exactly - but it takes all of his not inconsiderable willpower not to get up and run away from this place. He knows what that name means. He knows what they’ve done - what they tried to do. To his family. To _him_. Allison hurries on in the tense quiet.

“My father and I disowned the rest of our family a long time ago - we couldn’t abide by what they were trying to do, and I hated hunting so much that my dad left it all behind for me.” She takes a breath and the next bit is much softer. “I know what my aunt did-” Derek flinches- “but I’m not her,” she says, quietly but insistently. “Dad testified against her after what she tried to do to you and I threw away every gift she ever bought me. I was… disgusted by what the Argent name had come to represent. I just think you’ve been lied to enough by my family - I had to say something.”

Derek looks at her silently for a moment, taking in the earnestness of her gaze, the openness of her face. She looks and feels nothing like Kate; even when she was _seducing_ him (seducing a kid, _Christ_ \- he’d thought he was so _lucky_ to be chosen by her) there was a part of him that wanted to crawl out of his skin. He’d ignored his instincts and his family had nearly burned for it. What do his instincts say about Allison?

He sighs. Relaxes by increments. Leans back in his chair.

“Thank you for telling me,” he begins. Allison nods gravely, looking like a woman headed for the hangman’s noose. “You’ve chosen your side - and Stiles trusts you. That’s enough for me.” She looks pleasantly surprised, but Derek holds up a hand when she tries to speak. “You need to tell Scott though.” She deflates with a sigh.

“I know. I just don’t know where to start! He thinks I learned archery because I wanted to be an Olympian, not because my insane grandfather wanted to make sure I could commit _murder_ more efficiently.”

Derek isn’t sure Allison’s really seen the way Scott looks at her.

“I think you’re underestimating his feelings for you,” he says simply, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. “If Stiles can deal with my skeletons, Scott can deal with yours.” Allison smiles at him then, and it’s absolutely blinding. There isn’t even a shadow of Kate in her; any residual tension bleeds from his bones and he allows himself to smile back.

They walk outside arm in arm, which causes another flurry of whispering - or, in Stiles’ case, a loud “no seriously, what the _hell_ guys?” They sit back with their respective partners and Allison smiles warmly at Derek.

“Bad blood between our families - stupid stuff but I wanted to check we were okay,” she says lightly. Stiles raises an eyebrow at Derek, who just shrugs.

“Basically,” he concurs, leaning round Stiles to snag his half-eaten hotdog. He takes a bite, chews, swallows. “We’re okay.”

 

* * *

 

Before they leave - so late it’s early, everyone pleasantly buzzed on good ale and the excitement of sharing supernatural anecdotes - Erica and Boyd corner Derek with serious looks on their faces.

Erica explains her epilepsy, and the magically-inclined customer some years ago who hooked her up with some meds that mostly keep it under control (hence those sour notes under a film of something _Other_ that Derek had smelled earlier). She explains how it’s wreaking havoc with her body; how she doesn’t get seizures anymore but sometimes she’ll short out all the electricity in a building when she gets the hiccups. She avoids people who don’t know about her because she’s afraid she’ll hurt someone. Boyd looks pained, squeezing her hand tightly as she calmly asks if being a werewolf would cure it completely. If she’d be able to hug her little sister again.

Derek takes her number and promises to speak to Laura.

 

* * *

 

They get home and Derek takes his own advice.

He finally tells Stiles about Kate - about how she seduced him before he was even sixteen, and how he felt so stupid for a long time because he _fell for it_ ; he believed that a beautiful woman in her twenties could want something tangible from a fifteen year old boy, and that it was okay because he was _mature_ for his age. As Stiles sits, motionless in rapt attention, Derek tells him how she took his virginity in the backseat of her car, how she laughed when he told her he loved her -- he tells Stiles that it had taken years of therapy and support from his sisters to get rid of the feeling of her hands on him. The nightmares, when they come, are less vivid now, and easier to shake off in the watery light of early morning.

Stiles learns about the fire, too. Somehow they’d all gotten out alive, and Derek had gone to the Alpha - to his mother - and bared his throat as he’d told her that it was _his_ fault they’d all had to watch their home burn. He’d been prepared for her to _end_ him for what he’d done to their family. But she’d taken Derek in her arms; whispered forgiveness that he didn’t feel entitled to; let him cry into her neck for what felt like hours.

“I don’t blame myself now,” he says into the uncharacteristic quiet, sitting side by side with Stiles as his world shifts very slightly on its axis. “The therapy helped me to realise that I was a kid, and she abused me. She was sick with hatred for people like me, and she crossed a line. My parents died a few years later in an accident - they were trying to mediate a territory dispute - but she didn’t get them. That matters.”

They sit quietly for a moment. Derek can practically hear the wheels in Stiles’ head turning, reassessing and analysing every second of their time together in light of this new information.

Eventually Stiles turns to him.

“That’s fucked up, dude,” he says solemnly, and Derek is surprised into a bark of laughter.

“Yeah, my therapist said something similar,” he says with a wry grin. Stiles smiles back tentatively.

“My therapist once told me that she was going to glue me to my chair if I couldn’t sit still for the session,” Stiles admits with a fond sigh. “She’d been seeing me for about a year after my mom died, so she did pretty well not saying anything before that point.” He obviously sees the surprised look on Derek’s face and hurriedly adds “honestly she was like my best adult friend then - she really got me. She’s the one who diagnosed my ADHD and put me on the meds that allow me to be the suave and debonair man you see before you.” The accompanying eyebrow wiggle has Derek rolling his eyes, a grin making its way onto his face at the absurdity of this entire conversation. Trauma is weird.

Stiles slides a hand into Derek’s where it’s resting on his thigh.

“Thanks for telling me, big guy,” he says warmly, squeezing his hand.

 

* * *

 

Derek isn’t sure how they get from there to _here_ but he’s also not sure he cares. He’s on his back, panting and clawing at the sheets, fangs threatening to descend as Stiles swallows him down and _hums_ \-- he hears a ripping sound and rationalises that the sheets probably needed changing anyway. He can buy new ones - he doesn’t care about the sheets just as long as Stiles keeps going.

He’s good at this, so good - cheeks hollowed and tongue pressing firmly under the head as he pulls almost all the way off Derek’s cock, before smoothly sinking back down again. Derek can feel the fluttering of Stiles’ throat as he swallows reflexively around him, feels every single nerve in his body coming online as he fights not to thrust up into the wet heat of Stiles’ mouth. It’s _unbearable_.

Then Stiles pulls off completely and he changes his mind - _this_ is unbearable. He actually whines a little at the loss of contact, but Stiles is rasping “lube” and suddenly that seems like a fucking _great_ idea.

Stiles slicks up his fingers - Derek could write _sonnets_ about his fingers, honestly - and then he’s easing one digit inside Derek’s ass, and he could cry with relief because _this_ \-- this is what he needs right now. Stiles works one finger in and out, agonisingly slowly, kissing Derek’s trembling thighs as he stretches him out with Saint-like patience.

He adds another finger and Derek keens, reaching out a hand blindly until Stiles grasps it with his own and squeezes, not breaking rhythm for even a second.

Then comes a third finger, at which point Derek is _begging_ Stiles to just fuck him already, but he’s methodical and he’s _“got a plan, Derek, I’m going to take care of you okay”_ \-- and all Derek can do is sob brokenly as Stiles takes him apart and rebuilds him with the slide and twist of his fingers.

Stiles licks at the precum that’s dribbling down Derek’s cock and then takes just the head into his mouth, sucking and applying a dizzyingly good pressure with his tongue -- he pulls back his hand from where it’s clasping Derek’s and replaces his mouth with a tight fist, sliding slickly up and down his cock and biting bruises into his hips.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect - come on, Derek, come for me--”

Derek is helpless to resist. He comes with a rasping groan, eyes closed against the onslaught of sensations. When he finally comes down, Stiles is there looking smug and beautiful, Derek’s come on his face and in his hair, his neglected cock bobbing dark and tempting between his legs where he’s kneeling on the bed.

“C’mere,” Derek says, slightly slurred, holding out his hands to pull Stiles up the bed. He looks confused for a moment as Derek keeps pulling, but his eventual muttered curse and sharp intake of breath show that he’s back with the programme.

With what little strength he has available, Derek manages to pull Stiles up and over him so that he’s straddling Derek’s shoulders; he opens his mouth and waits, staring up Stiles through the haze of his own orgasm.

Stiles’ mouth is hanging open too as he moves forward, guiding his cock into Derek’s mouth while he braces himself on the headboard with one hand. Derek relaxes his throat and watches Stiles’ face as he breathes in and out, not moving as he adjusts to the heat.

Eventually he moves - slowly at first, until with a strangled moan he starts to fuck Derek’s mouth in earnest, both hands on the headboard now for more leverage. Every breathy sigh and hitching moan gives Derek a quiet thrill, and he manages to move his hands around to cup Stiles’ ass, digging his fingers in and coaxing him on with every thrust.

It’s only a few minutes before Stiles is crying out and coming with a broken moan; Derek swallows as best he can as Stiles comes down his throat, thrusting weakly until he’s spent, hips stuttering violently with his release. He eases himself off Derek’s body and sags to the side, thankfully managing not to knee Derek in the face.

It takes a while for them to get their breath back.

“So,” Stiles says after a few minutes, still breathing a little heavily and staring at the ceiling. “That was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I just need you to know that I love you.” Derek’s heart stutters but Stiles’ heartbeat remains steady. Derek closes his eyes and breathes deep. Once. Twice.

“It’s not just because of the sex - although the sex is obviously phenomenal. And you don’t need to say it back,” Stiles says quietly, but he doesn’t sound sad. He sounds like he _understands_ \- because of course he does. He’s loved and lost, and he knows what’s at stake for Derek here. How difficult it is for him to give over everything--

But he already has, hasn’t he?

“I know,” Derek says eventually, eyes still closed. “But I do love you. And I promise one day I’ll say that to you with my eyes open.” Stiles snorts.

“Trauma, man. It’s a bitch.”

“Concise,” Derek says drily, turning his head and allowing himself a glimpse of Stiles’ profile in the growing light -- they haven’t slept yet and it must almost be 6am. Birds are singing outside. Derek has to buy new sheets.

Stiles takes his hand with a lazy smile that makes Derek’s stomach swoop, even as Stiles’ eyes droop with understandable fatigue.

“Tomorrow I’m gonna rim you in the shower,” he says sleepily, like that _definitely_ wouldn’t end in multiple injuries and a possible trip to the ER. Derek huffs out a laugh.

“Okay, hotshot.”

Tomorrow… Tomorrow, maybe Derek will tell Stiles about Mates. Maybe not. They’ve got time.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Derek talks about his past with Kate Argent - for the purposes of this story he was fifteen when they slept together and he now has significant trauma as a result of this. Discussions of therapy from both Derek and Stiles. The Hale fire happened, but nobody died.
> 
> ***
> 
> Okay now THIS is the filthiest thing I've ever written. I've surpassed myself. They will hang my portrait in the Hall of Filth, with the caption "hot damn she tried".
> 
> Another one for aussiebee because she keeps goading me into writing horrible HORRIBLE things that would make any self-respecting person ashamed. Since I'm just SUPER IMPRESSED with myself, I am clearly not a self-respecting person. I hope you enjoyed my depravity!


End file.
